Chapter Text
"Colin, you are nearly three and twenty."
Colin arched an eyebrow at him. "Your meaning?"
"Certainly," Anthony said, his tone exacting, "you ought to have lain with a woman by now."
Colin, who did not know how to respond, said nothing.
"Are you—" Anthony paused, as though he was not sure he ought to say what he was thinking. "Are you attracted to women?"
"Of course I am."
At least, he supposed he was. In theory, he was attracted to women— when he lay in bed at night with his cock hard and aching, he thought of breasts and soft bellies and rounded hips— faceless, nameless women— as he sought his release. It was simply that he had never met a woman who made him wish to bring theory to life.
"We have discussed it," Anthony said, "and Benedict and I agree that we ought to take you to the abbeys this month, before you reach your next birthday."
Colin supposed that he ought to protest. There was no need for him to visit a brothel, for he was quite certain that there would be no lady there who would tempt him. Yet there was some little voice, deep inside, that pressed him— 'Why not? Why not try?'
***
Penelope had— somehow, mercifully— managed to convince her mother to delay her debut for nearly a year.
She suspected that it was because her mother had expected her to lose some weight, a feat which she had not accomplished. She had, however, begun to take on additional responsibilities in the establishment. She helped the other ladies arrange their hair and paint their faces. She chatted with them as they waited for their callers, and talked with them after the gentlemen had left.
All this meant, of course, that while she might not have gained any sexual experience, she was well-versed in appearing glamorous, and as knowledgeable about lovemaking as a young woman could be without having experienced the act herself.
That knowledge suddenly appeared quite useful, for tonight was the night Penelope must apply it all. The ladies would convene in the drawing room, and Portia would sell off Penelope's virginity to the highest bidder.
Penelope was fortunate, she supposed, that Portia did not allow men who were violent or unkind or cruel to patronize the establishment.
Still, she did not relish the prospect of being taken by one of the men who had shown her interest over the past year, men who were sure to be present that evening when the bidding began.
She set down her brush and took up her mirror. Her hair fell over her shoulders in gentle waves. Perhaps she ought to have put it up, but she had learned, over the past months, that her hair was her most striking feature; by wearing it down, shining against her silken robe, she was likely to increase her price substantially.
At last, the knock came. When she wrenched open the door— harder than she had expected— Janie stood before her, her eyes wide, an awful understanding written on her face.
"It is time, Miss Penelope. Your mother has called for you to come to the drawing room."
She followed gamely behind Janie, trying to keep her face schooled into an expression of extreme unconcern. She was not certain that she had achieved it, but at the very least, she was certain that her nerves would not show.
***
There they were— Lord Berbrooke and Lord Fife— both of them leering at her, and both ready to bid a substantial amount for her virginity. Both, it seemed, had an affinity for redheads, for they had worked their way through her sisters and cousins and now, it seemed, they aimed to collect Penelope, as though tupping her would earn them some sort of a prize for completing the set.
She did not like it, although she knew there was a fair chance it would be one of them. From what she had heard of them, she hoped that it would be Fife rather than Berbrooke. He, at least, seemed to have a care for a woman's pleasure.
"Lord Fife. Lord Berbrooke."
The men returned the greeting, then fell, once more, to talking between themselves, leaving Penelope time to scan the room.
Scattered throughout were gentlemen who, while occasional patrons of the establishment, were not part of their frequent clientele. They must have caught wind of the auction and decided to try their luck at the bidding.
One little group drew her eye; it seemed that Lord Bridgerton and Mr. Benedict Bridgerton had finally brought their younger brother along with them. He was every bit as handsome as his brothers, and clearly many times more nervous.
She might have examined him in greater detail, but her mother called for everyone's attention, and then Penelope was needed at the front of the room.
The bidding started low, at one shilling, and quickly climbed from there. By the fifth round, the bid was at ten pounds, Fife had bared his teeth at Berbrooke, and Penelope had grown quite desperate. She was so desperate, in fact, that she knew she must act, or all hope would be lost.
Mr. Colin Bridgerton, she decided, offered her the best chance.
She crossed the room to him, careful to smile flirtatiously at all the gentlemen she passed, and plopped herself down in his lap.
***
Miss Penelope had, for reasons not entirely clear to Colin, just taken a seat in his lap. She had flopped, somewhat gracelessly, onto him, and he'd been forced to grab at her to keep her from sliding off of him— one arm had wrapped around her waist, and the other hand had brushed the side of her breast. He managed to keep himself from reaching up and squeezing, but it was a near miss, for he could not think of anything he would have liked better.
When she was settled more firmly on him, he let his hands fall to her hips; then, mindlessly, he pulled her a little closer to him, and her soft, round bottom dragged over him. She wiggled herself against him and— God help him— his member began to harden beneath her.
"Bid on me," she whispered, her mouth blowing out little puffs of warm breath onto his earlobe.
He was powerless to say no— but he could not remember how high the bidding had gone already. He thought it might have reached one hundred pounds; just when he made ready to bid one hundred five, Miss Penelope ground down against him.
"Six hundred pounds!" he cried, and hitched his hips up against hers, seeking out a bit of relief for his aching cock.
The room fell silent, and Miss Penelope reached down to cover his hand with hers. He held himself still, and she spoke into his ear again. "Wait a few minutes, and then you may have me."
He could have had her right there, he thought, just pulling up her skirts and sinking into her, enveloping himself in her warmth. But she, too, was a virgin, and he ought to make it as pleasurable for her as he could, and taking her in a drawing room packed with people would certainly not allow for her pleasure.
He continued his slow, steady grind against her, and she wiggled her bottom and pressed kisses to his jaw, and it was all so good that he very nearly did not notice when Anthony and Benedict and Portia Featherington came to stand before them. In fact, he did not notice until Miss Penelope giggled and whispered that they had an audience.
Anthony glowered down at him. "Pull yourself together," he said in an undertone. "We are to step into Mrs. Featherington's study so that we can all discuss this."
Colin did not see what there was to discuss. He had had the highest bid, and Miss Penelope was, even now, riding his lap like a pony, and he certainly did not wish to waste time— time that could be spent suckling her breasts— in conversation with his brothers and her mother.
Still, he forced his hips to cease moving, and he ran a hand down Miss Penelope's back; she climbed to her feet, her breasts passing just in front of his face, so close that he could almost have kissed them.
She leaned down to whisper in his ear. "The sooner we speak with them, the sooner you may have me."
He did not drag her behind him, but if he took her hand in his and hastened them along a bit, who could have blamed him? Already his lap felt empty without her, and if he was forced to wait much longer to take her, he did not know if he would survive it.
The moment they entered the study, Anthony pulled him away from Miss Penelope, over to the corner of the room.
"What were you thinking?" Anthony's voice was a fierce whisper, and Colin might have been alarmed, had he been able to focus on anything but the promise of Miss Penelope taking him inside her.
"I was thinking," Colin said firmly, "that Miss Penelope is just what I had hoped for in a partner."
He looked across the room. She was standing with her mother, her hair gleaming brightly in the candlelight, her robe gaping open just a little, so that he could see the swell of her breast. His member, which had softened only slightly since Miss Penelope had left his lap, twitched a little at the sight.
Perhaps he ought to be embarrassed, standing here with his brothers with a cockstand, but they had brought him to the brothel in the first place; surely they must excuse his distraction, for how could he focus on them with Miss Penelope right across the room?
"Colin!" There was a look of irritation on Anthony's face, as though he had been calling Colin's name for some minutes.
He forced himself to focus on his brother's face, on his words.
"You do not need a virgin," Anthony hissed. "Why in God's name did you bid on her? We brought you here so that you might be instructed by an experienced woman!"
"Why would I want any of them," Colin said— modulating his voice so that his annoyance did not show— "when I might have Miss Penelope?"
Anthony ran a hand through his hair, frustration apparent in the gesture.
"Miss Penelope," he said in a measured tone, "is a lovely young woman, but you have laid out six hundred pounds to fumble around with another virgin."
Colin might have answered him, but Mrs. Featherington had stepped away from Miss Penelope, whose robe had slipped open a bit wider.
She gazed across the room at him, her full lip caught between her teeth. When she was certain his eyes were fixed on her, she reached up and drew the robe down, so that her nipple was exposed. Then, quick as could be, she pulled it back up, but the damage was done. Colin could not possibly engage in a conversation with Anthony and Mrs. Featherington, not when Penelope's breast was so large and round and perfect, not when she was teasing him so.
He was at her side in a minute, dragging her down onto the little settee by the fire. She straddled him this time, rather than sitting sideways across his lap, and she immediately set about grinding herself against him. Her breasts were pressed rather enjoyably against his chest, and he had his hands on her bottom, and at last he was able to kiss her mouth, as he had longed to do since the moment he saw her.
***
"Is everything alright, my lord?"
Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I—it is simply that we brought my brother here to gain experience, and he has chosen the one girl in the room who has none at all."
In the opposite corner, Colin's hand was fisted in Penelope's hair as she kissed and suckled at his neck. The other hand— dash it all— seemed to have disappeared beneath her robe.
Colin, as a Bridgerton, ought to have exercised a bit more self-control; he would have, certainly, had he already the experience he should have had.
If they had simply dragged him along to the brothels when he was eight and ten, then he would not have bid such a large sum on a lady without the slightest experience.
Six hundred pounds. He certainly hoped that Colin got his money's worth, for he could not imagine what his brother had been thinking, bidding so high over the others. It was very likely, in fact, that Colin had not been thinking at all.
The sly tone of Mrs. Featherington's voice drew him from his thoughts.
"Can the Bridgerton coffers not spare six hundred pounds?"
"Of course we can pay," Anthony said, pulling his pocket book from his coat. "I am simply surprised that Colin would spend such an amount, when he has, heretofore, shown little interest in the opposite sex."
Benedict let out a snort and clapped him on the shoulder. "Think of it this way, brother. You have surely laid out that amount over the years. Colin has simply spent it all at once."
"That is all fine," Anthony grumbled, "but he is so desperate for her; is this amount to become commonplace?"
A broad smile crossed Mrs. Featherington's face. "Perhaps you might like to reserve her for your brother? For a month, perhaps?"
It was difficult to believe that she could be so gleeful at the prospect of selling her daughter, but Anthony supposed that he could not be surprised, not when they were in this sort of an establishment.
He sighed. Perhaps she was correct. A month might allow Colin to get Penelope out of his system. He began the negotiations.
***
Penelope could not say, on reflection, what had made her choose Colin Bridgerton. He was handsome, of course, and well-formed, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His member, though she had not known it at the time, was large and hot and firm. Her decision must have been instinctual, some sort of response to the kindness in his eyes, the intensity of his stare.
"I need more," she whispered against his mouth. "I need you."
Taking hold of her hips, Mr. Bridgerton stood. "Where is your bedchamber?"
She looked round. Her mother was still deep in conversation with the other Bridgertons, and they might slip from the room without being noticed.
At her gesture, he put her down, and she led him from the room. She'd just pushed open the door to her bedchamber when she was swept from her feet.
Mr. Bridgerton tucked her against him, one arm wrapped around her legs, the other supporting her back, and strode into the room. He deposited her on the bed and tugged her to him, pressing himself against her and drawing her into a searing kiss.
He reached down between them, and for a moment, Penelope thought that he meant to touch her, the way he had before; instead he worked open the fastenings of his trousers. His member sprang out, large and red, standing up from his body, and he moved so that he was at her opening.
"Wait!" she cried, and Mr. Bridgerton froze.
"Do you— do you not want to?" he asked, his voice uncertain. "I— I did not—"
She shook her head. "The door— it is wide open. And I— I would like for us to undress first!"
Mr. Bridgerton smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up and his eyes crinkling. He crossed to the door and closed it, then returned to his place by the side of the bed. His eyes swept over Penelope's form, and he reached out and placed a hand on her hip.
"I would love to see all of you. When you showed me your breast— I was nearly driven to distraction."
"Then let me distract you again."
She fumbled a little with the tie, under Mr. Bridgerton's watchful eye, but at last she had it undone, and the robe fluttered to the floor.
Once it was there, she set about undressing Mr. Bridgerton. She ought to have removed all his clothes first, but she could not help trailing an occasional finger across his member, just to hear him gasp and moan.
When finally he was bare before her and she was able to look her fill at him, she saw that her imagination had not come even close to the beauty of his form. She reached for him, meaning to touch his chest, but before she could, he had climbed onto the bed and covered her body with his.
His member pressed up against her, hotter and larger and more insistent than his fingers had been, and she hitched her hips up to take a little of him inside her.
He was trembling above her with the effort of holding himself back, and she could not stand it another moment.
"Mr. Bridgerton— please, please— fuck me—"
"Colin," he groaned against her neck as he pushed inside. "Call me Colin."
His hips snapped against hers and she kept up a steady cry of "Colin, Colin," as he fucked into her. She wanted more, though, and she thought to touch herself, but she recalled a distant hazy conversation with her mother— some men did not like it when a woman touched herself.
Still, she needed her release, and Mr. Bridgerton— Colin— seemed quite reasonable, and so she slipped her hand between them and began to stroke the little bud there, moaning at the sensation.
"Penelope, Pen," Colin moaned. "God, you look so beautiful— touching yourself that way— always want to see you like that."
After that, he could not say much, mostly groans and muttered words of admiration and praise— about her beauty, how good she made him feel, how tight and hot and wonderful she was. How he longed for her release.
Then he slipped his own hand between them, covering hers and letting both their fingers rub over her slick nub.
"Colin, I— I am—"
She could not get the words out, but he knew, for he kissed her soundly and let their fingers continue their dance. All at once, the pleasure washed over her, her pussy tightening around Colin as he held her close.
He drove into her once, twice more; then, with a groan that might have been her name, he pulled out and stroked himself until he spilled across her belly.
Dimly, Penelope wished that he had not— that he had spent himself inside her, that he had allowed them that one extra moment tangled together— but then Colin flopped down next to her on the bed, a silly smile on his face. He leaned forward and kissed her once more.
***
Colin could not have anticipated how much he would like to see his seed splattered over Penelope's belly. She had the perfect figure— lush and curvy and round— and it was highlighted, to great effect, by his spend.
He knew he must get a cloth and clean her up, but he could not help admiring this mark— one that showed she was his, at least for the moment. Still, he forced himself to do it, for Penelope deserved to be treated with care and consideration.
He swiped the damp cloth lightly over her skin, making sure to clean her all over.
"You were wonderful," he said.
She smiled up at him sleepily, and his cock stirred a little. Penelope gave his thigh a little pat, and he stiffened more; how could he help it, with a beautiful woman so near him?
"Come here."
Colin scooted a bit closer.
Penelope reached over and took him in her hand. Then, lowering her head, she dropped a kiss on his cock and gave a little lick to the head.
He swelled in her hand; he had never seen any sight more beautiful than that of Penelope ministering to him. She had not taken him in her mouth, but her lips brushed over him, her breath tickled him deliciously, and the little licks she gave felt far better than he could have ever imagined.
"Pen," he breathed, and she gave him a lick and a smile.
"My god, Penelope, you will kill me."
"Would you like me again?" she said pertly.
Patting his thighs, he nodded. "Come here and let me kiss you."
She clambered up to sit on his lap, centering herself over his cock and sinking down slowly.
Colin sucked in a breath and tugged her down to him. Her breasts were pressed up against his chest, and her lips were soft against his, and he could not have imagined— just hours ago— that anything could feel as natural as being with Penelope did.
"Tell me what you like," he begged, stroking her with his thumb.
"Oh!" she cried. "Oh— that. Just like that— Colin—"
She cried his name again and began to ride him harder. When her release overtook her, she let herself fall across his chest, and he fucked up into her, slow and steady, until he pulled out and spent himself on her thigh. She cleaned herself this time, then lay back against the covers until her breathing had calmed.
"I— it is probably time for you to go," she said, and Colin thought he heard some reluctance in her voice. "My mother— the ladies are not— that is, gentlemen are not allowed to spend the night."
"I will come back," Colin said. "I— tomorrow evening?"
When Penelope did not respond, Colin's stomach sank. Perhaps she had not enjoyed it; after all, she was meant to pretend that she enjoyed it, and it did not logically follow that she did. Perhaps he had importuned her, taken advantage of her. Perhaps he should apologize for his behavior, tell her that he ought to have behaved in a more gentleman-like fashion—
"But you spent so much money!" she cried. "I cannot— Surely I am not worth it."
"You were worth every penny," Colin told her, "and more. If you do not object, I will find a way."
"I have no objection whatever," she told him. "Shall we go down?"
They helped each other to dress, and Colin kissed her again before they left the room.
***
Penelope and Mr. Bridgerton entered the room hand in hand, and Portia's heart sank.
She had allowed Penelope to delay her debut for several reasons, but foremost among them was the fact that Penelope was a romantic. She ought not be, for she had grown up in a brothel, but Penelope had a tender, sensitive heart, and her first experience with a man was unfolding just as Portia had feared.
Mr. Colin Bridgerton must be something of a romantic himself— it was clear that Penelope greatly stirred his desires— but to see the two of them behaving as a courting couple, rather than a courtesan and her patron, left Portia reeling.
"Mrs. Featherington," Mr. Bridgerton said, "I would like to engage Miss Penelope again this evening."
Penelope beamed up at him, and Portia thought that she saw her daughter squeeze his hand.
A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. She should not have agreed to the Bridgertons' scheme— a scheme which would only leave Penelope in distress. Her daughter should learn, and soon, how fickle men could be. Instead, Portia had arranged a month with a handsome, wealthy Bridgerton, a young man for whom Penelope had clearly already allowed herself to develop a tendre.
"Your brothers," she said haltingly, "have decided to gift you a month of nights with Penelope."
Mr. Bridgerton turned and swept Penelope into his arms, and Portia forced herself to stand sedately by— as Mr. Bridgerton embraced Penelope, as he whispered sweetly into her ear, as he assured her that he would arrive the next evening at the earliest opportunity.
Penelope gazed at him adoringly, placing her hand on his arm and telling him that she looked forward to seeing him.
Then he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, bowed, and bade her a good evening.
When he had gone, Portia rang for tea and settled in beside Penelope.
"How are you feeling?"
"Oh!" Penelope cried. "It was wonderful; I did not expect there to be so much pleasure. Colin— that is, Mr. Bridgerton— was assiduous in ensuring that I enjoyed myself."
"He did not spill himself in you?" Portia was almost afraid to ask, for green young men, such as Mr. Bridgerton, sometimes forgot themselves in their eagerness.
"He did not," Penelope said. "He spent himself once on my belly and once on my thighs."
Portia supposed she ought to be grateful for this small mercy, but she could not bring herself to feel such relief at present.
"I wonder what color Mr. Bridgerton likes best," Penelope mused. "I would like to select a gown that will please him, but I suppose I might ask him when I see him tomorrow evening."
She scooped up her teacup and kissed Portia on the cheek. "Good night, Mama. I will see you in the morning."
In that moment, watching Penelope leave, Portia knew— Colin Bridgerton would break her daughter's heart.